


rose-tinted glass

by hyengold



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Miracles, Drabble, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, M/M, Shy Han Jisung | Han, Smoking, Strangers to Lovers, a lot of talk not much action, christmas fluff ?, did i mention this is not beta'ed, how could i forget that tag, minho accidentally predicts the new testament, minho smokes but he isn't an addict don't worry, no one actually cares though, not much ship action happens tbh but i hope it's warm enough for yall, technically they break the law, the author is aware that they are not funny, trespassing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:29:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28320180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyengold/pseuds/hyengold
Summary: Minho gets homesick and decides to invade a random church and hang out with his own shadow. Little does he know that Christmas had something else in mind for him. Or rather... someone else.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	rose-tinted glass

**Author's Note:**

> can you believe i jammed to a medieval music playlist while i wrote this
> 
> it's technically? the 26th? and also 2am in the morning?? but it's christmas somewhere else in the world right now so if you go by that logic. merry christmas.
> 
> i actually really wanted to update the latest chapter of my minsung space au until i realised . i had only written like half of the required word count for a chapter. so, um. you're left with this incoherent nonsense. make what you will with it, i guess. 
> 
> please have my humble offering of some barely there minsung, and happy holidays! <3
> 
> (no, i totally did not scribble and plonk this down on a google document after a tiring christmas family gathering what are you talking about-)

Even in the glow of the nearby streetlight, the grass looks blackened and withered. Boots step upon the blades, creating a rich _crunch_ that sinks into the melted slush of a previous snow. Adorned in a dark winter coat, Minho enters the courtyard, ignoring the imposing cement-and-wrought-iron gate that guards the sacred ground. Rubber meets stone as he trods upon the elevated platform that leads to a large wooden door. Minho’s hand, wholly swaddled in a cozy layer of wool, brushes against the rusted metal handle, then grasps it firmly and yanks. 

With a reluctant groan, the door gives way to Minho’s tugging. The sound echoes throughout the interior, a chamber of cold stone and marble, polished to a shine. Out of all the places to while away the Christmas cheer, this isn’t the worst place Minho could have picked.

Minho has never been one for festivities. Back in his hometown, Christmas wasn’t as much of a big deal as Seollal was; only a small congregation of Catholics celebrated the occasion by going around preaching to the neighbours about the wonders of the gospel; not exactly the most uplifting way to spend what otherwise would have been a comfortable, quiet night. That habit of _not_ celebrating Christmas has extended to Minho’s present, in the city, far away from the overbearing church and his grandparents’ small farm. 

Still, the familiar structure of the cathedral he has decided to intrude on sends pangs of longing in the recesses of his heart. Maybe that’s what prompted him to break his clean record as a law-abiding citizen and trespass upon these private grounds. Sentiment should be a good enough excuse as long as he doesn’t break anything, right?

Minho walks farther into the church. The pews are eerily empty; each footstep seems to travel down the length of the rows and back, emphasising just how deserted the building is. In reality, Minho knows some kind of celebration must have taken place in the daytime, but at ten o’clock at night, no sane person would want to spend the late hours in such a stiff, formal environment.

He marches decisively up to the altar. Resting upon it is a small statuette of a woman wrapped in coloured cloths, gazing down at a snoozing baby in her arms. And right above that, the all-symbolic cross, a long-haired man in nothing but a loincloth hanging from the two horizontal ends, eyes shut in what presumably is slumber… or death. So Christians have a thing for human sacrifice. Huh. Minho sure hopes the baby isn’t meant to be killed like that too.

With nothing left to gawk at, Minho snags a random piece of flatbread from the bowl resting beside the woman and walks to the back of the church.

He chances upon a back door, not wooden but a sliding glass one, and reenters the frightful stinging of the late winter night. Here, the sky stares woefully down upon him, light pollution blocking out any potential stars in sight. The golden hue of the lights down the street cast long shadows and accentuate the vacant playground. The rocking horse seems to glare back at Minho with its lifeless eyes. It’s fine by Minho though. He’s never minded horror, one could say he’s taken some sort of liking to it. But he sure hopes that the man hanging from the cross doesn’t suddenly come back to life and strangle him from behind.

Minho casts all thoughts of such fantastical things out by slipping out a small box from his coat pocket, followed by an even smaller capsule. He fishes within the box, feeling the multitude of tiny tubes inside. Typically, he doesn’t do this, he finds healthier outputs for any sort of tension he may have between his shoulders, but it’s Christmas, he figures he can give himself a little treat.

Placing the paper tube between his chapped lips, he holds the lighter up to the tip, and tags a long drag. The tightness in his muscles instantly relaxes as he lets the substances do their thing, filling his head with euphoric nonsense and clouding his common sense.

“Oh, hi?”

Minho chokes on his smoke. He quickly extracts the cigarette from his mouth before it can drop to the damp grass and extinguish. He hacks a few more times, getting all the smoke out of his system, before turning around to see exactly who had nearly caused him premature death by asphyxiation.

A hunched figure stands in the doorway, hands stuck in his pockets, peering apologetically at Minho. Minho hadn’t the slightest clue that someone else could possibly be in the church. For a split second, he thinks it could be that man on the cross, come here to possess him most excruciatingly.

_Stupid, he’s got blond hair. You’re better than this._

Minho clears his throat, expelling his inner monologue. “Oh, um, hi.” He inclines his head.

The man waves back. Minho takes the chance to surreptitiously appraise him. He looks quite young, perhaps even younger than Minho, judging from the puffiness of his cheeks and juvenile innocence in his eyes. “Sorry… about before,” the young man says sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to scare you like that.” As he says this, his gloved fingers come out to fiddle with each other.

Add adorably socially awkward to the list of apparent characteristics.

Minho shakes his head. “Hey, it’s no problem. If something really did happen, I’d just get more money.”

The young man gives a shocked stare. “Huh? How?”

“I’d sue you.”

A single huff of laughter wracks through the young man’s body. “Good luck trying to squeeze any money out of me, mister. I’m about as broke and poor as any chap on a college campus.”

“You’re a student?” Minho casually takes another drag. “At which school?”

“Just the one a few train stations away?” The young man helpfully points in the direction of the nearest train station. “You know, the one near that famous fish market.”

It’s Minho’s turn to stare incredulously at him. “You mean XXX University?”

The young man nods vigorously, more lively now that he’s had a few more seconds of conversation in him. “Yeah! That one!”

Minho chuckles. “I go there too. What a small world.”

“Yeah, well.” The young man gestures to thin air. The subsequent silence hangs thick in the wintry air. Minho breathes in his next lungful of smoke. 

Instinctively, he extends the cigarette to the young man. “Want a puff?”

The young man starts, as if Minho could have been talking to someone else and he wasn’t the only other soul in the vicinity. “Me? I- uh-” He waves his hand in polite refusal. “I don’t smoke. I promised my mom not to.”

Minho nods approvingly. “You must be close with your parents.” He turns back to gaze out at the desolate road, eyes traversing the uneven asphalt. “My dad’s a smoker too; it’s how I got the taste for it.”

“Well then, I wish you and your dad a long and fulfilling life.” The sarcasm is not missed.

In response, Minho raises an eyebrow. “Hey, now, I’m not an addict. I just take the occasional smoke. It’s Christmas, you know. You should lighten up.” He beckons to the young man, who clearly has the intent of staying in Minho’s company. “It’s so dark there, why don’t you come out here? I promise I won’t memorise every inch of your face then stalk you on social media.”

“Now that you say it, I don’t think I’m going to,” the young man replies jokingly, but contrary to his words, he makes the journey forward, those few steps to meet Minho where he is. Now that he’s in the light, Minho can tell that he’s actually pretty good looking. Sure, he doesn’t meet all the stereotypical beauty conventions, but it’s something Minho can work with. The height advantage he has over him despite the other’s chunky boots definitely has added charm too.

 _Stop_ , he scolds himself. _You aren’t here to make your love life less lonely_.

“Seriously, though,” Minho ventures to distract himself, “I can’t believe we’ve never even wished each other Merry Christmas yet.”

“Merry Christmas,” the young man deadpans. “There, I said it.”

“I’m touched,” Minho replies, equally deadpan. He inhales another bout of smoke. He notes the slight nose wrinkle from his counterpart, and silently vows to only a few more drags before he’s done for the night. Absentmindedly, he waves his cigarette about. “What brings you _here_ on Christmas of all days, anyway?”

The young man lets out a soft hum of contemplation. “Let’s just say… I wasn’t feeling the holiday spirit.”

“Ah.” If he doesn’t want to divulge, then Minho won’t overstep his boundaries and pry. But he himself doesn’t mind sharing a small piece of his life with a stranger. He lets his paper-wrapped poison drop to the ground and slowly sizzle out; he’s much more occupied with something else now. “Me either,” he admits. “I actually came here because the Christmas songs were just too repetitive. Too many bells and happy singing and stuff, and all the malls are _crowded_ with disgusting couples and rowdy families. Not really my jam, you feel me?”

A nod of agreement. “Christmas is overrated.”

Inexplicable glee fills Minho, escaping in the form of laughter. “Hush now, we’re in a church. Pretty sure whatever god they worship is listening to us right now.”

The young man raises an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah I hear he’s no joke. He’s even spelt with a capital G in English.”

“Ooh, scary!” Minho says, just for conversation’s sake. He gesticulates his arms for the spooky effect. “I sure hope we don’t receive some kind of terrifying divine retribution right now!”

The two dissolve into unstoppable fits of giggles.

It’s nice, Minho has to admit as he catches his breath. Two cold, lonely souls on the happiest day of the year when everyone else is surrounded by warmth and loved ones, finding solace in each other. This isn’t the worst Christmas he’s spent during his time in the city. In fact, if he’s ranking by the amount of times he’s laughed, this Christmas is better than most. He silently sends a grateful thanks to his past self for impulsively sneaking into a church to pipe a quick one.

And with that… 

“I’m Minho,” he blurts out. “Born in ‘98, by the way,” he tags on, as if it would resolve the suddenness of his declaration.

Thankfully, his conversation partner takes it in his stride. “I’m- Jisung, I’m born in 2000,” he says, a little bashfully, and Minho can’t help but think it’s absolutely heart-warming.

“Jisung,” he repeats, feeling the word around in his mouth. He sticks a hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

Cordially, Jisung shakes back. Minho tries not to think about the warmth his appendages are leaching from the other. “Minho,” Jisung repeats. “Nice to meet you too.”

Wordlessly, the two exchange mischievous grins. Minho thinks he hasn’t had this much synergy with anyone else in a long while, much less with anyone he’s only talked to for less than ten minutes. But it’s nice. He doesn’t mind.

“Say, Jisung-ssi,” he says. “What do you say we take this indoors?” He pulls out his wallet under the watchful eye of the other boy. “Hyung’ll get you a nice warm cup of coffee.”

To his surprise, Jisung shakes his head. “I’m afraid not…” His eyes flick up, a glimmer of playfulness within them. “My taste buds will only accept iced Americano as an appropriate offering.”

“Ah!” Minho thinks back to his extremely similar taste in caffeinated beverages. What was that he was saying about synergy? “I think we’re going to get along splendidly.”

Jisung brightens at his words, and Minho thinks the younger’s excitement may well be the most brilliant thing he’s seen all day, even with the blinding Christmas lights that are shoved in his face around every commercial corner.

And if the exorbitantly pricey Starbucks outlet they go to becomes a frequent meeting place, and if Minho can’t stop getting more and more enchanted with the music major he’s found a fellow kinship in, well, that’s just part of the Christmas miracle that was somehow granted to Minho, one cold, lonely Christmas night.

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell the writing degraded as soon as i passed the 1am mark because it totally did.
> 
> i barely remember anything about those types of churches to actually describe what's in there from memory, whatever you've read from there is the result of my scant googling and generous artistic liberty. ironic, considering that the description is probably what makes up like half the word count in there. 
> 
> i actually wanted to make it a little more angsty at get more into each character's background, but i was panicking for a fic and like i said before, it's 2am. the title is also complete nonsense, in case you were wondering. i just thought, hey, a church has stained glass, that'll look super creepy in the nighttime and also we all know christmas at this point is a capitalist scam so . here we are.
> 
> in any case, i hope you enjoyed, and once again, merry christmas! <3


End file.
